


Love, Avalanches, and Other Natural Disasters

by MotherMaple



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Betty is good at everything, Dirty Talk, Dom!Jughead, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hiking, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, The author is incapable of hurting her characters, Tumblr Prompt, UST, it's just fluff, so much swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-23 07:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13782996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherMaple/pseuds/MotherMaple
Summary: “You gonna stand there and stare at me all night, or do you want to throw some of these logs on the fire?” Jughead asked with an amused smile. “Not that it isn’t flattering, but it’s going to get pretty f****** cold if we don’t start generating some heat.”Ignoring the blatant double entendre, Betty grabbed the nearest log and quickly turned her back on Jughead. “I wasn’t staring,” she protested weakly, willing away a furious blush. “I was just wondering where you learned to do that.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jandjsalmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jandjsalmon/gifts).



> The amazing @jandjsalmon got a Tumblr prompt: 
> 
> "A concept: Jughead and Betty on a winter expedition but getting trapped inside a cave when an avalanche hits and they need to work together to survive the cold and getting out in any needs"
> 
> and I took a perfectly good idea for an angsty, dangerous fic and turned it into a fluff-fest. So, thank you, Nonnie, whoever you are, for the idea and I hope you like what I've done.
> 
> For Jandy, who once again threw herself into the swirling vortex of insecurity and typos that is me when I'm writing, and agreed to be my Beta despite knowing how I get, and who deserves all the fluff in the world. xoxo
> 
> ** This work is inappropriate for readers under the legal age of consent**

 

“Remind me again why we’re doing this instead of enjoying the fireplace at the cabin?”

 

“Because if I had to listen to Archie try to perfect that chord progression one more time, I was going to stab my eardrums out with one of those rail spikes Veronica calls shoes.” Jughead held a tree branch back to let Betty pass him onto a narrow deer trail. “You didn’t have to come, though.”

 

Betty scoffed at him as she passed, ducking so the overhanging pines wouldn’t catch on her knitted hat. “Like I was going to let you come out here alone. Only an idiot wanders into the bush by himself.”

 

“It had nothing to do with you being sick of seeing Veronica and Archie eye-fuck each other?” He flashed her a lazy grin as he caught up with her again, and nodded in the direction he wanted to go. “Because the last time I saw sexual tension that thick was when you made me watch Olympic figure skating.”

 

“Ice dancing,” Betty corrected him absently. “And no. I’m pretty much immune to that at this point.” Not for the world would she admit that the prospect of a pre-twilight stroll through a snowy forest with Jughead was much too tempting to pass up. In the right light, the concept could almost be called romantic.

 

Except that Jughead didn’t do romance, and there’s no way that his suggestion of a walk in the woods had extended, on any level, to Betty’s immediately imagined end to the evening - which may or may not have included the two of them helping each other out of snowy clothes and wrapping themselves in downy blankets in front of the dancing fire in Betty’s bedroom.

 

“Anyway,” she continued, shaking herself out of her fantasy, “what are we looking for?”

 

Jughead took her hand and helped her scramble over a fallen log, steadying her shaky dismount. “Nothing in particular. I’m writing a critique about _The Revenant_ for my film studies class, thought I’d get a feel for the winter wilderness.”

 

“Minus the grizzly bear, if it’s all the same to you.”

 

“I don’t think there are any in this part of the country. We shouldn’t see anything more terrifying than a snow hare this close to Ron’s cabin.” He nudged her shoulder and sent her a sideways smirk. “We’ll be fine as long as we’re in range of Archie’s amp.”

 

Calling the Lodge family winter retreat a ‘cabin’ was about as much of a misnomer as calling Balmoral Castle a hunting lodge - technically true but grossly understated. The massive multi-story log house featured a functioning spa with sauna and jacuzzis, fireplaces in almost every room, and expansive mountain and lake views. Jughead’s heart had been won by the chef’s kitchen and Betty’s promise to make good use of it.

 

“True. Nothing with eardrums is going to venture within a hundred miles of the place if they don’t have to.” Betty shrugged apologetically. “I adore Archie, really, but I can only handle so much of his teen-angst playlist.”

 

‘Yeah,” Jughead sighed. “You should hear him on a Saturday night when he doesn’t have a date.”

 

Biting back a grin, Betty patted Jughead’s shoulder sympathetically. “I know, Kevin told me. Apparently, if it wasn’t for the fact that Archie makes brunch every Sunday, your trio would be down to two in the dorm.”

 

“You can’t quote the Lion King when it’s snowing, Betts.”

 

“It’s based on Hamlet. I’m pretty sure it snows in Denmark.”

 

“I suppose. Going back to brunch -”

 

Betty laughed and fished in her pocket for a Clif bar. “I’ve got you, don’t worry,” she said, handing it to him and patting his stomach teasingly.  

 

He accepted the protein bar with a distinct roll of his eyes, slipping it into his breast pocket and flicking his eyebrow at her, almost in challenge. “That wasn’t what I was going to say. I was _going_ to thank you for teaching Archie how to make breakfast. Don’t tell him I said so, but his pancakes are almost as good as Pop’s.”

 

“Really?” She tried, honest she did, to keep the delighted smile from creeping across her face, but to have someone who loved food as much as Jughead compliment her recipe… “I’m glad you like them.”

 

“I like everything you make, Betts. And, by extension, almost everything you’ve taught Archie to make. Except his poached eggs. Those need work.”

 

Making a mental note to buy a microwave poacher for the boys’ kitchen and filing away the compliment for future savouring, Betty turned away to tie some reflective tape to a nearby tree branch - and, incidentally, to hide her flushed cheeks

 

They walked on in silence for a few more yards, carefully avoiding the deep tree wells and keeping an eye out for ice falling from the upper branches. There had been reports of small avalanches earlier in the season but no warnings were in place at the moment. The weight of Betty’s rucksack was both a symbolic reminder of the risks of hiking in the snow and a comforting presence assuring her that she was prepared for even the most unlikely emergency.

 

“So how’s the quiet treating you?” Jughead’s voice was quiet, neutral. “Was the break what you needed?”

 

She nodded, more to herself than to him. “Yeah.” Her first semester of college had been slightly overwhelming - the combination of freedom and expectations had triggered her anxiety more than once, and the noise and bustle of the city gave her little reprieve from the organized chaos that made up her thoughts. “Yeah, the quiet is good. ”  

 

Not that her thoughts had been any less chaotic since the four of them had made the drive from upstate New York to Veronica’s cabin in Vermont. She’d shared the back seat of Ron’s Land Rover with Jughead while Veronica and Archie had taken the front seats - their on-again-off-again relationship was in a decidedly tempestuous phase and neither Betty nor Jughead were eager to get in the way of what was very clearly foreplay to passionate and possibly angry sex.

 

It had been a long, long drive, squashed between Veronica’s luggage and Jughead’s solid frame, close enough to smell his aftershave and definitely close enough to lean against him and fall asleep - if she’d only been able to relax. Instead, she’d spent the trip sitting bolt upright, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, doing her best not to brush against him as they bounced over potholes and swerved around snowdrifts.

 

But, since the swirling storm of her mind had shifted its focus more to the very handsome and extremely attentive Jughead instead of school work, her ever-expanding social circle, or the demands of the college paper, she had to admit that things were a bit more manageable in the woods. Of course, she didn’t say any of that to him.

 

“Good. I’m glad.” He sounded genuinely pleased for her, and she suppressed the tiny spark that flared in her chest whenever she thought about how much his support had helped her over the past four months. Lost in thought, she almost crashed into him when he paused and glanced up at the sky.  “There’s only about an hour of daylight left. We should head back.”

 

Betty nodded her agreement and turned back the way they’d come, reaching up to untie the thread of red ribbon she’d just wrapped around the trunk of a slim pine tree. There would be a trail of them, one every couple of yards, alternating with the reflective tape, leading them back to the cabin.

 

Her hard-earned Hiker badge had been the first one she’d proudly sewn to her vest as a Girl Scout.

 

They were only a little over two miles from the cabin, which gave them plenty of time to make it back before night really fell. Betty was just reaching for her second ribbon when a loud crack shattered the silence and an ominous, low rumbling sounded over their heads.

 

“What the fuck…?” Jughead muttered, looking wildly around.

 

“Gunshot, probably a hunter. We have to get away from this rock face.” Betty grabbed Jughead’s hand and tugged him hurriedly away from the slope they’d been skirting as they walked. They’d barely cleared its shadow when a cascade of snow and ice crashed to the ground where they’d been standing, obliterating their in-bound footprints and smothering the trail.

 

“Fucking hell,” he cursed, kicking fruitlessly at a snow drift. “I hope whatever he was aiming at eats him alive.” He took a deep breath and turned to her, gripping her shoulders and looking her over quickly. “Damn, you’re fast. Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine. You?” He nodded and they looked up at the low hill that had seemed so unthreatening five minutes before. “How can you tell if an avalanche is over?”  

 

“Hell if I know, but getting away from here seems like a pretty good idea to me.” Jughead clambered over to the marked tree, sinking up to his waist in the unpacked snow. “Come on, this is going to be a pain in the ass so we should get started.”

 

They climbed, hand in hand, over snow drifts and piles of rock and ice, struggling along the path they’d strolled along before. “This is taking too long, Jug,” Betty said worriedly after a few hundred yards. The debris had fallen over a much larger area than she’d expected. “There’s no way we’re going to make it back before dark.”

 

“We have to try,” he insisted stubbornly. “What’s the alternative?” He pulled a flashlight out of his own rucksack and held it up to her. “You’ve got one too, right?”

 

“Yes. Yes, of course, I do.” She mentally scolded herself and plowed through another snowdrift. This was why they had rucksacks, this was why she’d filled them with emergency supplies. They were going to be _fine_.

 

Half an hour later, the last faint glimmers of daylight were fading and they were still at least a mile from the cabin. They both had their flashlights out, creeping carefully along the path and straining their ears for any sign of more falling snow. Twice Betty fell, her pack pinning her face-down in the snow until Jughead hauled her up by the straps. “This isn’t working,” he said, chewing his bottom lip. “Do you think that whistle of yours would reach the cabin?”

 

“Probably, but it might trigger more snowfall,” Betty said. “I think we have to camp. There are too many tree wells to risk hiking in the dark.”

 

He swore under his breath and flashed his light up the face of the slope. “We’re gonna have to find a cave or a clearing away from here. I don’t feel like finding out what it’s like to be buried alive.”

 

Pulling out a handful of ribbons and some reflective tape, Betty turned away from the rock face and swung the beam of her flashlight through the trees. “There’s less snow off the path,” she said nervously. “We could set up the emergency tent if we had to.”

 

“There are all kinds of rock formations here. I’m sure there’s a dry spot somewhere,” he answered, taking the tape from her. “I’ll do the tape, you tie the ribbons.”

 

They made their way off the path, leaving enough ribbons and fluorescent strips in their wake to land a plane in the dead of night. Two hundred yards off the trail, under a thick canopy of trees, they found a rock formation that would have fascinated Betty under different circumstances. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, incredulous. “We couldn’t have found a better spot if we’d ordered it from Eaton’s.”

 

“Who the hell is Eaton?” Jughead asked, flashing his light all around the area.

 

“Department store. It’s a quote from - you know what, never mind. The point is that this is perfect. Do you see any signs of animals?”

 

He crept a little closer, aiming his light at the snowy ground and into the mouth of what seemed to be a cave, or maybe a large fissure. “I don’t think so. Let me just get a little closer.”

 

“I’m coming with you,” she whispered fiercely, gripping his arm. “You don’t get to be eaten by a bear and leave me to fend for myself.”

 

“So what, we get eaten together?” he muttered back, attempting to shake off her restraining hand.

 

“Yes,” she hissed. “Let’s go.”

 

With her heart in her throat, she followed him to the mouth of the cave and they swept their beams through the darkness. “Thank goodness,” she breathed. The blinding light of her military-grade flashlight - courtesy of her brother - bounced off the back wall less than ten feet away, and the space was empty. “Home sweet home.”

 

\---

 

“What else do you have in that bag, Mary Poppins?” Jughead teased, watching Betty unfold a small shovel and start digging a hole near the entrance to their makeshift shelter. “And what are you doing?”

 

“Digging a fire pit,” she said, wiping her nose with the back of her mittened hand. “Are there any rocks?”

 

She’d already lined the ground with a thin sheet of tarpaulin and pulled two sleeping bags out of impossibly small stuff sacks, leaving Jughead to zip them together. There were hotsnapz packs ready to take the place of hot water bottles, and foil blankets for extra insulation - all that remained was to gather the courage to crawl into bed with him.

 

Fortunately, it was only about half-past six, and there was still time to build up to that.

 

By the time she was satisfied with the size of her fire pit, Jughead had tracked down enough large rocks to bank around it, and thrown in a handful of mostly-dry twigs to serve as kindling. “We’ll have to chop down a tree or something,” he said, putting a match to a puff of cotton he’d produced from his own bag. “I can start a fire out of just about anything, but not even I can feed it on hopes and dreams.”

 

“The hatchet isn't very big,” Betty said ruefully. “It’ll have to be a Charlie Brown kind of tree.”

 

“Consider it done, milady,” he teased, pulling on a headlamp. “I’ll be right back.”

 

True to his word, Jughead was back fifteen minutes later and lugging a small pine tree after him. “Honey, I’m home,” he sang, dropping the tree against the wall. “How’s the kindling?”

 

“Good, it’ll last until we can hack a branch off of that tree,” Betty said, poking at the small fire with a long stick.  “And the wind’s just right. All of the smoke is going out the way.”

 

“Thank Heaven for small mercies,” Jughead said, shrugging out of his thick parka and setting to work dismantling the tree with surprising ease.

 

 _We are preparing to sleep outside in near-freezing temperatures,_ Betty told herself sternly. _This is not the time to ogle your best friend._

 

But she couldn’t help it. Even through his thick, cable-knit sweater, she could see his shoulders flexing with every swing of the axe. He brushed his hair impatiently out of his eyes each time that one curl fell obstinately forward; finally stopping to adjust his hat, effectively ending the back-and-forth.

 

The Paul Bunyan thing was really working for him - and for her, to be honest.

 

“You gonna stand there and stare at me all night, or do you want to throw some of these logs on the fire?” Jughead asked with an amused smile. “Not that it isn’t flattering, but it’s going to get pretty fucking cold if we don’t start generating some heat.”

 

Ignoring the blatant double entendre, Betty grabbed the nearest log and quickly turned her back on Jughead. “I wasn’t staring,” she protested weakly, willing away a furious blush. “I was just wondering where you learned to do that.”

 

“Do what? Let gravity carry a miniature hatchet through a three-inch branch? It’s not rocket science.”

 

“Shaddup,” she mumbled, feeding another branch into the growing flames. “Humility doesn’t become you.”

 

“Duly noted. I’ll make it a point to be more cocky in the future,” he said, grinning at her over his shoulder. “Think this little tree will get us through the night?”

 

Betty inspected the branches thoughtfully. “It’s pretty dry, which is good for the smoke, I guess. We might need another one, though. It’ll burn fast.”

 

“On it, boss.” Jughead shouldered the axe and set off again, pausing in the doorway. “Come with? It would be easier with a second light.”

 

“Yeah, of course,” Betty said, straightening up and following him. “Lead on.”

 

…

 

“I’m disappointed, Betts. I thought for sure you’d build a snare out of hair ties and bobby pins, and make venison for dinner.” Jughead eyeballed the MRE beef stew on the old tin plate with distaste, poking listlessly at it and putting Betty very strongly in mind of Polly’s twin toddlers when confronted with sprouts.

 

“Very funny. You’ll eat your disgusting Army food and be thankful.” Betty waved her fork at him menacingly. “There are plenty of starving children in the world who would be happy to have it.”

 

“You know, sometimes you open your mouth and your mother comes out.” Sighing in defeat as his stomach rumbled, Jughead cautiously nibbled at a chunk of carrot and dutifully chewed and swallowed. “Okay, it’s not as bad as Mrs Beazley’s mystery meat.”

 

“At least it comes with a brownie.”

 

“Ah yes, the proverbial jam with this gelatinous pill.”

 

Betty laughed, stoically eating her own dinner. “Come on, Jug. Going to bed hungry isn’t going to do you any good when you’re trying to stay warm.”

 

“I’m eating, I’m eating,” he said around a mouthful. “I’m just saying, as soon as we get out of here I’m going straight to Pop’s and staying until they run out of burgers.”

 

“You and me both. I’d give my eye teeth for a good milkshake right now.”

 

“Alright, it’s a date,” he said, winking at her. “Pick me up at seven.”

 

She hid a nervous squeak behind a fake cough that became a real coughing fit that became hysterical laughter at the thought of karma tracking her down in a cave in the middle of nowhere to punish her for an attempt at minor deception.

 

“Uh...Betts? Are you alright?” Jughead asked nervously, watching her doubled over, clutching her sides with tears streaming down her red face. “Do you need some water?”

 

“No,” she wheezed, shaking her head. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” She coughed again and reached for her water bottle. “Sorry,” she added. “I think my tastebuds are rejecting this stuff.”

 

Jughead looked skeptical but accepted her explanation without argument. “If you say so. You gonna eat that roll?”

 

“No, you go ahead.”

 

“Thanks.”  He snagged the sad-looking piece of bread off of her plate and tore a chunk off. “By the way,” he asked conversationally. “Do you snore?”

 

This time, the coughing fit was completely real.

 

\---

 

“Emergency signal light outside?”

 

“Check. Fire banked?”

 

“Check. Tried the FRS again?”

 

“Check, but still no answer.” Betty frowned at the little radio in her hand. “I hope they aren’t too worried.”

 

Jughead slipped his arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Hey, don’t do that. You and I both know why they aren’t answering, and they probably won’t even notice we’re gone until we get back. The radio’s on, they can call if they do manage to pry themselves apart. They’ll be fine.”

 

“I know, I just hate the thought of Veronica panicking and calling in Search and Rescue, or worse: coming after us herself.”

 

“She would be far more likely to send Archie, so I don’t think you have to worry too much about that. They’re both smart enough not to try it in the dark, and they know how prepared you were for an emergency.”

 

 _His time at the animal shelter served him well_ , Betty thought wryly, feeling herself relax a bit at the sound of his voice, schooled into a low, soothing murmur. _No wonder that angry little tabby liked him so much._

 

“Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s try and get some sleep.”

 

Betty took a deep breath and nodded, simultaneously excited and completely petrified at the idea of sharing a bed with Jughead. “Yeah, we should.” She slipped off her parka and laid it flat inside the sleeping bag. “I hope you aren’t planning on sleeping in those boots,” she teased, toeing off her own Merrells and shimmying out of her snow pants.

 

“Definitely not. I’m, uh, just going to step outside for a minute though.” He scratched the back of his neck and nodded sharply, turning on his heel and disappearing into the night.

 

Mentally thanking her mother for years of discipline resulting in a practically invincible bladder, Betty slid into the sleeping bag and zipped herself in, shifting her hot pack over to Jughead’s side. She had no doubt he’d be glad of the extra warmth when he came back.

 

Sure enough, he was shivering when he kicked off his own outerwear and crawled in beside her, reaching out and hauling her against his chest. “I know thirty-five degrees isn’t exactly Arctic, but it sure as hell feels like it.”  He burrowed deeper into the sleeping bag and pressed his face into her neck. “You’re so warm,” he whispered, his breath against her skin sending shivers down her spine. “Is this okay?”

 

 _Is this okay?_ she thought, ignoring the pounding of her heart. _This is the very_ definition _of okay._ “It’s only weird if we make it weird, Jughead.” _Good one_ , she told herself. _Very diplomatic._

 

“I’m weird. Does that count?”

 

“Sure, if you say so.” She let out a breathy chuckle and squashed down the temptation to slip her hands into his hair. “Thanks for everything you did tonight,” she said softly.

 

“I didn’t do anything, I just followed orders. If you hadn’t been with me, I’d probably still be stuck where the snow fell. And I definitely wouldn’t have had all of these supplies.”

 

“Well, then we make a good team. That last tree was definitely a two-person job. I couldn’t have done it alone.”

 

His voice sounded sleepy when he answered; from a combination of fresh air and a warm bed, Betty figured. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded with than you, Betts.”

 

“Me too, Juggie,” she said, trying desperately to take his words in their most innocent possible context. “Also-” She paused, turning her next words over in her mind.

 

The darkness of the cave, lit only by the flickering flames; his soft, even breathing against her neck, calming her; the inexplicable sense of peace brought on by his arms around her; the exhausting stress of the day - it was a perfect combination to tear away her walls and let her finally tell him at least part of what he meant to her.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Nothing,” she whispered. “I just don’t think I would have survived the last four months without you.”

 

He exhaled through his nose, sending a warm puff of air over her skin, and leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. She shivered in his arms and he pulled away, shifting so that he could look at her. “Yes, you would have. You rocked the semester and you made it look easy.”

 

But it hadn’t been easy - it had been hard and stressful and some days she’d felt like the fragile rope that held her together was going to snap. “Ducks on the water, Jug. If I did make it through, it’s because you kept me sane. You made sure I ate when I forgot, walked me home in the dark -  you held my books hostage that time so I’d go to the spa with Ron. Lord, you talked me out of a panic attack in the middle of the library! You were amazing,” she concluded, lightly pressing her fingertips to his jaw. “Thank you.”

 

Betty probably could have forced herself through the stresses of her first semester and emerged, battered, but triumphant. Certainly, she’d learned invaluable lessons about herself and she would definitely have a better handle on everything going into the next term, but there was no question in her mind that having Jughead beside her had made it easier. Her long-time crush had deepened into something much more adult in the past four months as her favourite childhood playmate had shown himself, again and again, to be a man she could depend on.

 

He watched her intently, with his brow furrowed and eyes focused on hers. She couldn’t quite fathom the look on his face, couldn’t begin to figure out what it meant, but it took her breath away. “You _are_ amazing, Jug,” she said again, more forcefully.

 

His jaw twitched under her fingers and he moved again, untangling his arms and gathering her hands in his. “Betts -” Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and pressed his lips firmly to her closed fists. He didn’t let her go, holding their joined hands against his chin so that he all but mumbled, “You’re the amazing one.”

 

He saw her protest coming and cut her off with a swift grin. “Don’t argue with me, Cooper. I don’t know anyone else like you - smart and funny and freakishly nice. Equally adept at pulling a five-course meal out of thin air or setting up camp in a broken old rock.” His thumb stroked over hers and he dropped his gaze, speaking in a low, vulnerable voice. “You think I was there for you this year, but you’ve been there for me my whole life. I wrote a story about you once, years ago. Said you were like a little yellow daffodil growing in a junkyard.” He smiled at her bemused look. “I was ten, my metaphors were shaky.”

 

“I like daffodils,” she breathed, afraid that speaking out loud would shatter whatever was happening. They’d been friends for years and talked about everything under the sun, but the strange intimacy of the moment made it feel different. Like something had shifted.

 

“I know.”

 

“You always know.” There was a pause, a moment where they breathed together, their eyes locked, and she was sure that if there had ever been a moment for her to kiss him, that was it.

 

Instead, she cuddled against him and draped one arm around his waist, shutting out the voices telling her she’d missed her chance, and pressing a soft kiss over his heart. “Good night, Jughead.”

 

“Good night, Betty.” Pushing her hat out of the way, he dropped an equally light kiss into her hair. “Sweet dreams.”

 

…

 

For the first time in her life, Betty woke up with a man wrapped around her. That wasn’t the first thing her foggy brain registered (the squawking of the FRS radio took that honour), or even the second (the fact that her nose was completely frozen), but it was definitely in the top three strange things she cataloged before she opened her eyes.

 

Veronica’s frantic voice crackling through the speaker roused her fully and she groped blindly in the dark for the inconveniently small receiver.

 

“Ron, we’re okay.”

 

“Betty?! Oh, thank God. Where are you? I woke up to get a drink and your coats weren’t here and what the hell happened? Why didn’t you call?”

 

Betty chuckled to herself. “We did. Maybe you were otherwise occupied?”

 

There was a moment of silence. “Alright, maybe. Do you need help? Should I call the police? The Rangers? I don’t even know who you call when someone’s lost in the woods!” Her voice took on a hysterical pitch as she rambled and Betty felt guilt bubbling up in her stomach at the thought of her hyper-composed friend getting into such a state over _her_.

 

“V, I’m so sorry.” She tried to speak quietly but she knew Jughead was listening - his hold on her tightened at the sound of her apologetic voice.  “There was a small avalanche and the trail was demolished. We couldn’t make our way back in the dark so we camped in a little cave. We’re warm and perfectly safe. We’ll head back as soon as it’s light.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“That we can make it? Yes. Just not in the dark. We’re fine.”

 

“Be careful. And keep me posted.”

 

“We will,” Betty promised. “Go back to bed for a bit.”

 

A sobbing breath came over the speaker, then, “I love you, B.”

 

“Love you, too, V.”

 

“She okay?” Jughead asked groggily from behind her. “She sounded upset.”

 

Betty put the radio down and wriggled back against him in the sleeping bag until only the top of her hat was showing. “Yeah, they just finally noticed we weren’t there. Panicked a bit, but she’ll be okay now she knows we’re not dead”

 

He huffed out a short laugh and hauled his arm up to look at his watch. “I’m sure they broke some kind of record. We should have been back twelve hours ago.”

 

“To be fair, they probably wound up in bed five minutes after we left and never came back out,” Betty said reasonably. “Why would they go looking for us in the middle of the night?” Her sweater had ridden up during the night and she gasped when he put his arm back around her, and the cold buckle of his watch made contact with her skin.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered, pulling his hand away.

 

“No.” Betty caught his wrist and stopped him. “It’s okay. Body heat is more effective if it’s shared.” That might have been true, but the shiver that spread through her when he splayed his hand against her stomach had nothing to do with the physics of winter survival and everything to do with chemistry.

 

There was a low intake of breath somewhere behind her left ear and she wondered if he’d felt it, too. Then, his thumb started tracing a slow, sweeping pattern along the bottom of her rib cage and she was suddenly hyper-aware of every nerve in her body. She lay perfectly still, hardly breathing, silently praying to anyone who would listen that he wouldn’t stop. He must have picked up on her tension because he paused and murmured in her ear, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

 

She shook her head minutely. “Not at all,” she said, forcing herself to relax. “This is nice.”

 

He hummed his agreement and his thumb resumed its subtle tactile exploration of her rib cage - if his hand crept further under her sweater, she pretended not to notice, biting her lip to keep from breaking out in a grin. But then he very gently blew in her ear and there was no way she could pretend that it had been an accident.

 

“Jug…” she breathed, gripping his hand and twisting her fingers through his.

 

“What?”  The teasing lilt in his voice surprised her - she’d never known him to be the flirtatious type but it was absolutely undeniable that Jughead Jones, eschewer of romance and all around cynic, was flirting with  _her_. She banished the thought that he was baiting her; he’d never do anything to really embarrass her. Which left the only possible alternative. He liked her too.

 

“Are you - ” She didn’t know where to go with that sentence. What if he _was_ teasing her?

 

“Cat got your tongue, Betts?” he whispered, shifting his weight and propping himself up on one elbow. His body curved over her, and his lips hovered barely an inch from her ear. “What’s on your mind?”

 

“I -” What was on her mind? Not a hell of a lot, quite frankly. She turned onto her back and looked up at him inquisitively, sucking in a shocked breath; there was no way to describe the way he was looking at her other than with pure, unadulterated desire. “Ohh,” she said, finally letting her brain catch up with her instinct.

 

“I almost kissed you last night,” she blurted out.

 

“Did you?” he asked lazily, leaning down slightly and brushing his nose against her jaw. “What changed your mind?” His lips grazed her ear and the hand still resting on her ribs shifted again, now hovering enticingly close to the edge of her bra.

 

She closed her eyes and unconsciously tilted her head, leaving her neck exposed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to.”

 

He chuckled softly and left the lightest of butterfly kisses just behind her ear. “I definitely did,” he said, moving his mouth slowly down her neck, each kiss slightly more heated than the last, until he found her pulse fluttering wildly at the base of her throat and pressed his tongue to it, sucking gently and rolling fully on top of her. “Fuck, Betts, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

 

“Three years,” she whispered, sliding her hands up the back of his sweater, letting her nails drag lightly against his skin.

 

“What?”

 

“Three years. That’s how long _I’ve_ wanted to do this.” She reached up and brushed feather-light kisses along his jaw. “You?”

 

“About the same,” he said slowly,  pushing up and balancing on his hands above her. He looked completely blown away. “Really?”

 

“Really really.” She grinned shyly.

 

“Holy shit,” he breathed. Carding his fingers into her hair, he swooped down and crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing her gasp and sliding his tongue temptingly against her lips.

 

Temptation in the form of an ice cream sundae could be easily ignored - temptation in the form of Jughead (when did he learn to kiss like that?) on top of her could not. Sheer want took the place of conscious thought as her head tilted and her lips fell open under his. Her arms wound around him, hands abandoning the idle patterns she’d been tracing on his back and instead weaving through the thick hair she’d always wanted to touch.

 

It was even softer than she’d imagined.

 

Half of her wanted to give in to the screeching demands of her body, to tear off his clothes and devour every inch of him; the other half wished that they could stay like this forever, enjoying this leisurely give and take of exploring kisses and softly caressing hands. Then his thumb slipped just under the wire of her bra and she almost gave in, sighing softly and arching under his touch.

 

“Jug, are we really doing this?” she asked breathlessly, not clarifying what she meant by ‘this’, hoping for a clue from him.

 

“I really, really hope so,” he murmured, resting his forehead on hers. “God, Betty, I’ve wanted you for so long, I can’t even believe this is happening.”

 

“ _How_ do you want me?” She hadn’t intended for that to sound so sultry, and Jughead’s chuckled _You’re killing me, Betts,_ sent a blush from her cheeks to her collarbone. “You know what I meant,” she groaned, swatting lightly at his shoulder. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

 

He laughed again and rolled over, pulling her onto his chest and dragging the sleeping bag up over their heads. “I think I’d like to wake up with you like this again, maybe in a more comfortable bed. I’d definitely like to take you out properly, be that guy that all the other guys are jealous of. I’d love to hear you say that you’re mine. And,” he grinned mischievously and pulled her head down to whisper in her ear, “I really want to make love to you.”

 

“I want all that, too,” she whispered back, smiling into his shoulder. “Especially the bit about the more comfortable bed. I think,” she added, sitting up to look at him properly, “that we should continue this conversation tonight, maybe with a glass of wine in front of the fire.”

 

“I can think of a few other things I’d like to continue tonight in front of the fire,” he said suggestively, slipping his hands teasingly under her sweater. “And I think that we should get back to the cabin as quickly as possible before Ron really does send out a search party.”

 

“One more,” Betty whispered, leaning in and brushing her thumb against his bottom lip, “for the road.”

 

***

 


	2. Chapter 2

Soft.

 

One word kept running through Jughead’s mind. Everything about her: her sweater, her hair, her skin, her lips - _God, her lips_ \- was soft. Soft hands under his sweater, pushed halfway up his chest. Soft sighs against his mouth when he slid his hands tentatively over her curves. Soft kisses dotted over his face when he stared at her, wonderstruck, and told her she was beautiful. Soft eyes looking up at him when he bent to kiss her, telling her to stay warm while he went to rebuild the fire, neglected and almost out.

 

Part of him wished they could stay in the cave forever, half convinced that it was part of another dimension - one where Betty wanted to kiss him, wanted _him_ to kiss _her_ \- and that everything that had happened in the last hour would vanish like a dream the instant they stepped out into the real world.

 

Three years he’d wondered what it would be like to kiss Betty, wondered how it would feel to hold her, not as a friend but as a lover. Three years of telling himself that he was no good for her, that she deserved better than a guy who spent his time couch surfing when he wasn’t bouncing between foster homes, a guy hovering on the barely-legal fringes of a gang.

 

Three years followed by four months of college - of stable life in a dorm, the same bed every night; a scholarship-funded meal plan, good grades, reliable laundry and heating. Four months of shaking off the past, building himself up to the point where he thought, someday, he might be almost good enough for her (no one would ever truly be good enough for Betty Cooper), four months of enjoying a normal friendship with her, unimpeded by the white noise of his soap-opera life.

 

And then twelve hours in a cave in the woods, when everything changed and _someday_ became _now_.

 

“If you’re waiting for that fire to stand up and thank you for breakfast, you might want to put on your coat, Jug.” He looked over to see Betty sitting up in bed with the sleeping bags wrapped around her. Her hat had long since fallen off, no doubt lost somewhere under her crumpled parka, and her hair was a tousled mess around her head. “Come back to bed.”

 

***

 

Betty saw the grin steal over his face at her words, and she thought she understood why; it sounded so domestic, like something you’d say to your husband on a lazy Saturday morning: _“Why are you up so early, babe? Come back to bed.”_ She’d only confessed her feelings for him an hour before, and there she was talking to him like a long-time lover.

 

Maybe she’d been wrong when she’d assumed he wasn’t a romantic.

 

He wiped his hands on a Wet-One and made his way back to her, crawling across the sleeping bag until he hovered over her as she lay back on the ground.

 

“Hi,” she whispered, running her hands up his arms.

 

“Hey.” His eyes flickered to her mouth and he leaned down, brushing his lips ever so gently against hers - just enough to tease her - then moved to trace the shell of her ear with his tongue.

 

“Mm, Jug, you’re freezing,” she murmured. “Get in here and warm up a bit.”

 

Nipping lightly at her earlobe, he shoved the sleeping bag open and crawled inside. “Temptress.” He settled against her, leaving a slow trail of searing kisses down her throat. “God, you taste good.”

 

She doubted it, sincerely. Her last shower had been about thirty hours ago and she probably tasted and smelled like sweat and woodsmoke, but she couldn’t deny the intense feeling of feminine satisfaction that coursed through her at his words. It sounded like a prediction more than an observation, a promise of something he wanted and planned to get.

 

An icy hand crept under her sweater, smoothing along the curve of her waist, over and over, inching higher with each pass until her camisole barely grazed the bottom of her breasts and the initial chill of his touch turned into scorching heat. His lips never paused in their tender assault on her neck, moving from one sensitive spot to another with what seemed like instinctive knowledge, his tongue tracing sensual patterns on her skin.

 

This was everything she’d hoped it might be like, and nothing like she’d expected. Her breath came in soft sighs, and her body writhed almost imperceptibly on the hard ground, her fingers laced together over her head. She ached, everywhere, craving him, afraid to touch him again in case she lost control and did something reckless.

 

His fingers brushed over the curve of her breast, dipping under the lace of her bra, and suddenly reckless sounded really good. “Jug.” She’d meant to say it as a warning, but it came out in a breathy moan, quite unlike any sound she’d ever made before.

 

“Hm?”

 

She could feel him against her thigh, the thin material of his sweatpants doing little to hide exactly what kind effect this was having on him. “Oh, God,” she whispered, that reckless desire growing stronger. “Jug, we’ve got to stop this.”

 

He stopped so suddenly, pulling her sweater down and retreating to his own side of the sleeping bag, that she wondered if she’d imagined the last hour. “Too much? I’m sorry, I - Betts, I should have asked.”

 

“No, no,” she said adamantly, reaching for his hand. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just didn’t want to get carried away.”

 

“Carried away?” He quirked an amused eyebrow at her and smiled in sudden understanding. “What do you mean?” he asked innocently.

 

Oh, well if he was going to tease her, two could play at that game. “I mean, Mr Jones,” she said quietly, pushing him onto his back and kneeling over him, “that you’re far too tempting for your own good.” Catching his bottom lip between her teeth, she flicked her tongue against it and tugged gently. “And I didn’t want to do something stupid like fuck you in a dirty cave with no condoms.” Sitting up, she produced an elastic out of nowhere and swiftly tied her hair into a messy bun. “Coffee?” She smiled brightly and climbed to her feet, shrugging on her jacket, and laughing to herself at the look on his face.

 

“Did you just say ‘fuck’?” he asked incredulously.

 

“Uh huh,” she answered nonchalantly, pulling on her boots. “Play your cards right later, and I might say it again.”

 

Grinning at the string of muttered expletives he let out, she crouched by the fire, digging in her rucksack and pulling out a couple of oversized enamel mugs, a pouch of instant coffee, a bottle of water and a small set of tongs.

 

Rolling some small, clean rocks into the fire, she filled each mug with water, then sat back to wait.

 

***

 

He watched her sashay away, smiling like an idiot at the way she’d turned the tables on him. Her sharp wit had always been one of his favourite things about her - the list of which was growing exponentially by the minute - and he’d be lying if he said that her unexpectedly filthy mouth didn’t turn him on beyond all belief.

 

And now, to complete the vision of sheer perfection, she was making coffee. How, he didn’t know - there was no kettle - but he was not about to question it. Curious, he sat up in bed and leaned forward, craning to see what she was doing by the fire.

 

After several minutes of intently watching a pile of rocks nestled in the flames, she rolled them out with the tongs, one by one, and dipped them quickly into the first cup, then into the second cup where she let them sit.

 

Four rocks later, steam started to rise out of the second cup, and, with the addition of a fifth, the unmistakable sound of boiling water reached his ears. Betty fished the rocks out with the tongs and poured in a spoonful of instant coffee grounds, smiling and carrying the mug back to the bed.

 

“We’ll have to share,” she said, kicking off her boots and sitting down, offering him the first sip. “I needed the other mug to clean the soot off.”

 

“What the hell did you just do?” he asked, gaping at her. “Where did you learn that?”

 

“YouTube, but I heard about it the first time in my ‘Boxcar Children’ days.” She shrugged, blinking at him over the rim of the enormous mug. “I guess I’ve had worse coffee, all things considered.”

 

The sun was starting to rise, the pinkish light filtering into the cave and highlighting Betty as she sat cross-legged, wiggling her toes in her thick, wool socks, looking adorably disheveled and content with life. It suited her, he thought, this liminal space where the only priority was surviving. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked so peaceful, but he was glad he was there to see it.

 

***

 

“I kind of don’t want to leave,” Betty said quietly, shouldering her rucksack and tightening the hip strap. “Real life doesn’t seem very appealing right now.”

 

She knew perfectly well that her feelings for Jughead were real: it wasn’t a case of two friends being thrown together and falling in lust in a time of certain death. She’d liked him two days ago, and she would still like him when whatever bubble they were currently wrapped in popped. It would have been nice to continue to shut out the world for a while, though.

 

(She staunchly refused to let herself think of it as a honeymoon, even metaphorically.)

 

“But the real world and Veronica Lodge beckon,” he said ruefully, eyeballing the radio in his hand.

 

Veronica had checked in eleven times since sunrise, and her last transmission had been truly terrifying: _“I’ve sent Archie to kidnap Henri from Cafe le Ritz, and Margaretha from the day spa. They’ll be here when you get back.”_

_Betty and Jughead had looked at each other in horror. “When she says ‘kidnap’...” Jughead trailed off, leaving the question hanging._

_“Archie wouldn’t,” Betty pointed out. “If she’d gone herself we’d have to worry, but Archie?”_

 

“So they do,” she sighed, dropping one last pile of snow on the already-cold embers of the fire. “Alright, let’s do this.”

 

Hand in hand, they stepped out into the brilliant sunlight and made for the trail they’d marked the night before.

 

Some of the fallen snow had settled overnight, so the trek wasn’t quite as bad as it might have been. It was waist-deep in some spots, knee-deep in most others, and Betty found herself grateful to Cheryl Blossom for possibly the first time in her life. _“Ass to grass, ladies, or it doesn’t count!”_

 

Jughead, with his longer legs, had less trouble, only sinking to mid-thigh even when Betty thought she might as well try swimming for all the good walking was doing.

 

“I’m bringing snowshoes next time,” she panted, grabbing Jughead’s arm so he could drag her out of a particularly deep drift. “This is ridiculous.”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jughead grinned, catching her as her momentum sent her crashing into his chest. “It’s not so bad.”

 

Flirty Jughead was something she could get used to, she decided, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him playfully. “You just like playing the hero,” she teased, leaning back and pretending to swoon in his arms. “I should make you carry me home.” The patch of snow she was standing on crumbled and she squealed, sinking up to her ankles again. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

 

“I’m not!” His face was beet red and he was biting his bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed, but he wasn’t technically laughing. “I swear!”

 

“Jughead…” she said warningly, scooping up a handful of snow.

 

“You wouldn’t.”

 

She would.

 

He gasped in mock outrage around a mouthful of powder and blinked at her. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that, Cooper,” he said, leaning down to form a snowball and taking his time to pack it properly.

 

Betty shrieked and took off down the path, laughing and stumbling as she fought through the snow. Chancing a glance over her shoulder, she tripped and fell backward, letting out a surprised huff when Jughead landed on top of her, still holding the snowball threateningly.

 

“You wouldn’t,” she whispered.

 

“Wouldn’t I?” Tossing the snowball aside, he grabbed a handful of soft snow and sprinkled it over her face. “What are you gonna do about it?”

 

“Revenge is a dish best served cold,” she said sweetly. “Better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

 

He chuckled and leaned down, pressing against her and exhaling against her neck, murmuring, “Who said I planned to sleep tonight?”

 

There was no mistaking the heat in his voice, and she wondered how he’d kept this side of himself so well hidden for three years. This confident, teasing Jughead was completely at odds with the solicitous, somewhat snarky, friend she’d grown up with. “Well, we can talk about that later,” she whispered. She knew what he was implying, they’d been flirting like that all morning and it excited her, but she wasn’t making any decisions when he was lying between her legs in the snow. That would be ridiculous.

 

“I hope so,” he said simply, standing up and pulling her to her feet. “I want to talk about everything with you.”

 

***

 

He knew the conversation they needed to have. In spite of their morning together, easily the most erotic morning of his life, they had yet to talk about what they were. He knew what he wanted (Betty, preferably falling in love with him), and he thought he knew what she wanted (him, on some level) but he’d been spectacularly wrong before; for example, he’d somehow missed the fact that one of his best friends had liked him for three years.

 

The worst of the avalanche debris was soon behind them, and they were able to stroll side-by-side for the first time since the previous day. Their joined hands swung between them and they walked in near-silence until they rounded the last bend and the Lodge cabin came into distant view.

 

“Betts,” he said, tugging on her hand and stopping her mid-stride. “I know you said something about wine and a fireplace, but can we do some of that talking now?”

 

“Yes!” She blushed and laughed apologetically, brushing a strand of hair off her face. “Sorry. I was just thinking the same thing.”

 

“Good.” He took off his hat and twisted it nervously in his hands. “Look, I’ve liked you for a really long time and I was going to tell you, someday. This whole emergency survival situation kind of pushed us together a little sooner than I thought, but I want you to know that it’s real. I wasn’t just killing time or whatever, I want something real with you.”

 

A smile tugged at her lips and she started to speak but he cut her off, knowing he sounded idiotic but loathe to assume that he knew what she was thinking. _Is this what it’s like when you like a girl?_ he wondered. You can’t _say anything without sounding like a complete idiot?_

 

“Oh, shit, unless you don’t want that. I shouldn’t assume. If you just wanted to have some fun, and then forget about it, that’s okay, too. I don’t want to pressure you -”

 

She reached up and covered his mouth, shushing him gently. “Jug. Stop. I told you this morning that I want everything you want. This _is_ real.”

 

“Are you sure?” He stepped closer to her, resting his hand on her waist. “I was afraid to leave this morning, in case it all disappeared, but I want it more than anything.”

 

She didn’t answer right away, regarding him with her head cocked to the side and an affectionately exasperated look on her face. It was a look he was familiar with - the same one she had every time he ordered extra fries instead of the side salad. “I’m sure.” Sliding her hand around his neck, she reached up and kissed him softly. “Completely.”

 

.

.

.

 

“What was it like before we knew her?” Jughead asked Betty quietly, watching Veronica tear around like the pint-sized _force-de-nature_ she was. “I can’t remember.”

 

They’d walked in the front door five minutes before, and spent four of them being hugged and cried over by Veronica, who alternated between berating them, and telling them how much she loved them and how worried she’d been.

 

Jughead couldn’t help pointing out that she’d only known they were missing for ten minutes before finding out that they were alright, and there was really no reason to worry.

 

“That is entirely beside the point, Forsythe Jones. Think of what could have happened! You could have been _crushed_ , or _eaten_ , or _frozen_ to death!”

 

“V,” Betty cut in quietly, “we were perfectly safe, nothing happened,” at which Veronica burst into tears again, gripping Betty in a back-breaking hug, and then ran off to shout instructions at the Cordon Bleu-trained chef in the kitchen, who Archie had indeed picked up from Cafe le Ritz.

 

(No one knew exactly how above-board the transaction had been.)

 

“Now, you guys are going to sit down and eat a good breakfast, and then Margaretha and Luda are going to give you massages. Okay?” She gave them a slightly manic look that commanded obedience, nodded her head sharply and dashed away again, yelling something about towels.

 

Two hours later, Jughead was half asleep on a massage table in his room, having been beaten, squeezed and twisted into a quivering pulp, then wrapped like a burrito in a fluffy blanket and ordered to “ _drink water, Mister Jones. Osmosis_!” by the impressive Margaretha, who resembled a Valkyrie, but was twice as intimidating.

 

His last thought before he dropped off to sleep was the hope that Luda had given Betty an easier time of it.

 

***

 

“V, this really wasn’t necessary.” Betty tried to speak without moving her face; the earthy-smelling mask that Luda had slathered her in from forehead to sternum had dried, and she knew she’d be in for a lecture if it cracked. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

 

“What trouble? It’s just a spa day.” Veronica looked up from Betty’s fingernails, emery board suspended in midair. “Not even you can spend a night in a cave and not need some beauty treatments. And don’t tell me that massage wasn’t a God-send.”

 

“Yeah, but the scrub, wrap, and mask were just spoiling me.” Not that she was complaining, but she always felt a bit guilty about spending Veronica’s money.

 

Veronica waved away her protests with her own freshly-manicured hand. “You deserve it. From what Jughead said over breakfast, you probably saved his life.”

 

“I think he’s exaggerating a bit. I made his night more comfortable…” Betty trailed off, grateful that the mud on her face concealed her blush.

 

But Veronica would not be fooled. “Did you, now. Exactly how comfortable are we talking?”

 

“Um,” Betty squeaked. “Pretty comfortable. There may have been spooning. And some reciprocal flirting. And, um, wekindofmadeoutthismorningafteryoucalled.”

 

“Betty Cooper!” The emery board clattered to the floor, forgotten. “How could you wait this long to tell me, you sly bitch!”

 

“It didn’t come up?” She was in for the third degree now, and she knew it. “Luda, is it time to wash this off?”

 

“Да, Иди.” Luda nodded towards the bathroom. “Иди! Go!”

 

“Спасибо Большое, Luda.” Veronica smiled at the stunning red-head and started to help her pack away her supplies. “You’re dismissed, B. Go have a shower. We _will_ talk later.”

 

“и не забывай про воду!” Luda snapped.

 

“And drink water.”

 

***

 

Furious pounding on his bedroom door dragged Jughead out of a deep sleep, making him sit bolt upright on the table, and promptly crash to the floor with his arms and legs still tangled in Margaretha’s cocoon. “What?” he snapped irritably.

 

The door flew open and Veronica waltzed in, completely undisturbed by the sight of him in his shorts, trying to break free of the blankets.

 

“Geez, Veronica. A bit of warning?” he asked, scooping up a pair of jeans and hopping into them. “I don’t walk in on you naked.”

 

“Please. You’re not naked, and even if you were, you haven’t got anything I’ve never seen before.” She regarded him critically. “Although you are more built than I imagined.”

 

Closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead, he let out a frustrated sigh and pulled on a shirt. “I don’t need to know anything you’ve ever imagined about me. What have I done to deserve this visitation?”

 

“You kissed Betty,” she said matter of factly, settling herself on his bed. “And she liked it.”

 

“Did she say that?” he asked, brightening up and not even caring how eager he sounded.

 

“She didn’t have to, Jug, I’m not an idiot. Although, I was starting to think you were, honestly. Watching the two of you pine for each other has been nothing short of exhausting, but congrats on finally manning up.”

 

“Um. Thanks. So are you here to find out if my intentions are honourable, or what?”

 

Veronica laughed and stood up, smoothing non-existent creases from her skirt. “No. I came to tell you that your breakfast came at a price: Archie and I have to make a red carpet appearance at Cafe le Ritz tonight, so you’ll have the house to yourself. Now. Betty’s a romantic, so I suggest that you pull out all the stops. The master bedroom has a garden tub and a fireplace, so maybe start there. No one’s using it. And here,” she added, tossing him a box. “They’re flavoured, so if your initial performance is lacking...well. She’ll taste like strawberries.”

 

Jughead looked down at the box of condoms and swore he felt his face burst into flames. “Presumptuous much, Ron? I think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, here.”

 

“Didn’t you learn anything last night, Jughead? Never hurts to be prepared.” She sailed out of the room, pausing in the doorway to give one last piece of advice. “And trim your nails.”

 

Utterly presumptuous.

 

(He trimmed his nails.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. After doing his best to subtly point it out to me for the last two chapters, Jughead has decided to prove to me conclusively that he's a bit of a dom.
> 
> If you're here for more light fluff, you're probably in the wrong place because this is 5000+ words of mostly pure filth - it is by far the smuttiest thing I've ever written. (I'm not sure how that happened, but I'm honestly kind of proud so #sorrynotsorry)
> 
> I would like to extend both my thanks and apologies to Jandy, who betaed this mess, for being amazing even though I rewrote certain scenes several times - after she'd reviewed them several times. She's a champ, guys. 
> 
> Also, maybe don't read this at work. Or in public. Just in case. 
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> **Note the rating change**

Betty stood in front of her closet, chewing her lip, with Veronica’s parting words ringing in her ears: _“I’m just saying, B, trust your instincts.”_

 

She was a young woman alone in a luxurious house, literally designed for romantic getaways, with a hot guy who wanted her.

 

Her ‘instincts’ were absolutely not the problem.

 

Twelve hours ago, said hot guy had been completely unconcerned with the way she looked, or smelled, or the fact that she’d been wearing yesterday’s clothes. She knew perfectly well that she could put on a burlap sack and he’d still like her. And yet, there she was, fretting over what she was going to wear to go downstairs and hang out with a guy she’d known since first grade.

 

Sighing, she pulled on a red flannel shirt dress over a pair of thick wool thigh-high socks, deciding it was simple enough that she wouldn’t look like she was trying too hard but sexy enough that she’d feel confident, desirable even.

 

And there was nothing wrong with that, thank you.

 

Checking her reflection in the mirror one last time, she slipped out of her bedroom and padded down the hall to the great room, where she was sure she’d find Jughead sprawled in the massive sunken sofa.

 

He was delightfully predictable.

 

“Hey,” she said quietly, climbing into the pit and curling up in the corner with her feet tucked neatly under herself. “You look comfy.”

 

“Yeah, just wondering if I could convince the Dean to let us put one of these in the dorm.” He was lying over three cushions with one foot propped up on the back of the sofa, a well-worn copy of ‘Tom Sawyer’ folded back in his hand. “Be a pain to vacuum, though.”

 

“The perks of having maids, I guess.”

 

There was an odd tension hanging between them, and Betty was unaccountably self-conscious. They’d been open enough with each other that morning, but that had all felt so organic; a natural progression of events. Now, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. She knew what she wanted to happen, but where to start? Should she sit closer? Wait for him to come to her?

 

(Was dating always this nerve-wracking?)

 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Jughead asked, tilting his head back to look at her. “Something boring so we can turn off the lights and whisper in each other’s ears instead of paying attention?”

 

And that, in a nutshell, was why she liked him. “You read my mind.”

 

They decided on a recent remake, certified 16% on Rotten Tomatoes, and settled in, Jughead propped up in the corner, and Betty curled up around a pillow, with a decorous space between them.

 

“Why are you so far away?” he whispered, after exactly two and a half minutes of pretending to watch a Crusader bury a fallen comrade with a stolen Egyptian ruby. “C’mere.”

 

Smiling, she shuffled closer, curling up into his side and hooking her leg over his thigh. “Hi.”

 

“Hey.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and dropped a kiss into her hair. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah, just a bit nervous.”

 

He pulled back to look at her, surprise evident on his face. “You? About what?”

 

Glad of the chance to say what was on her mind, she shrugged and gestured vaguely between them. “This, us. It all happened so fast this morning, and it was great but I’m not really used to it yet so I didn’t know, like, what the rules are now. Yesterday we were friends and today we’re … more … and I’m not sure how different it’s supposed to be.” She cut herself off, knowing she was rambling, and shrugged again. “Maybe that cave was magic.”

 

“I feel like I should apologize, but it doesn’t sound like you regret it?” he asked, frowning slightly.

 

She laughed softly. “No, quite the opposite, actually. Just being weird, I guess. Overthinking.”

 

“Still sure you want to do this? We can go back to being friends with awkward crushes if you want.”

 

“No! No, that’s not it. I want this. I want _you_. I just apparently don’t know how to make a pass at a guy without a tonne of snow trying to kill us first.” She looked up at him and rolled her eyes. “Are you sure you want to date such a complete dork? I could seriously damage your reputation.”

 

“I’m sure,” he said, pulling her in and pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s just me, Betts, we’ve done this a thousand times. It’s only weird if we make it weird, remember?”

 

Nerves vanishing, she grinned and made herself comfortable, trying to focus on the screen where Tom Cruise was clearly pining for his glory days.

 

If she surreptitiously adjusted her leg so that the flared skirt of her dress rode up just a smidge, she wasn’t about to feel guilty for it.

.

.

.

Betty had spent much of the past three years imagining what it would be like to date Jughead. She’d caught more than one glimpse of him through Archie’s bedroom window that had set her pulse racing, and she’d imagined losing her virginity with him more times than she could count.

 

But every fantasy she’d ever conjured up fell spectacularly short of the simple reality of his hand resting on her bare thigh. It had inched there slowly, starting at her knee and idly tracing the cables of her sock until his thumb had slipped off the wool. Then he’d paused, his fingers hovering, before lightly settling on her skin.

 

“What are the ribbons for?” he asked, turning his head to murmur in her ear as though the painful dialogue on screen was worthy of hushed tones.

 

“To hold up the socks,” she whispered back, watching him absentmindedly trace the strip of black satin woven through the grey wool, “although I suspect it’s mostly decorative.”

 

“I like it.” The arm he had around her shoulder slipped down her back and he stroked her bra strap through her dress. “Does this match?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Her light tone was completely at odds with the sudden thrill that shot through her - it had never occurred to her that _not_ having sex could be so exciting, but the short time she’d spent draped over him, with her skirt barely covering her backside and his hand casually rubbing her leg, had her more turned on than she could ever remember being.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to show me?”

 

She could hear the teasing smirk in his words, but the truth was, she did want to show him. More than once, she’d contemplated ‘accidentally’ leaving her curtains open while she changed, knowing he was across the way in Archie’s room; but, common sense had always prevailed.  

 

“Maybe.” Without sitting up or looking away from the TV, she popped open the first two buttons on her dress, discretely glancing down to see what she’d uncovered. A generous display of cleavage, but nothing she couldn’t get away with on a normal day.

 

She liked the thought of him asking to see more.

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an incredibly sexy woman, Elizabeth Cooper?” His lips brushed against her neck as he spoke, his voice low and heavy with implication.

 

“No,” she whispered, truthfully. She’d been called many things by many people, but ‘sexy’ was not one of them.

 

He reached up to brush a curl off her face, letting his hand drift down her throat and hooking a finger into the V of her neckline. “You are,” he said roughly, guiding her up to straddle his lap, “an incredibly sexy woman.”

 

Her thanks died on her lips when he flicked his finger and the next two buttons popped open, the loose dress slipping down her shoulder. “I like you like this,” she said instead.

 

He paused in his slow exploration, tracing the top of her breast with one finger. “Like what?”

 

“Confident. Like … like you know how to be in charge.” The last words were spoken in a wondering breath; a realization. Jughead, who she’d always thought of as reactive, had turned out to be surprisingly assertive. She wondered how deep that went, and suddenly ached to find out.

 

“I do?”

 

But that didn’t mean she was going to be a passive observer. “Uh huh,” she said coyly, toying with the buttons on his shirt. “You look like the kind of guy who sees what he wants,” she easily slipped three buttons open, looking at him through her eyelashes, “and takes it.”

 

He bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment, resting his forehead on her collarbone. “What do you want me to take, Betty?” he asked huskily, pulling her closer and sliding one hand up her thigh, bunching her skirt in his fist. “Tell me.”

 

Unconsciously, she arched her back, tangling her fingers in his hair and pressing her chest against his lips.“Everything, eventually.”

 

“‘But not tonight?” He rocked his hips up against her, his voice thick, his tongue teasing the swell of her breasts.

 

_God, that felt good._ “Not everything tonight,” she said breathlessly, clumsily opening his shirt with one hand and pushing it off his shoulders.“Just a little taste.”

 

He nipped at her skin, kissing his way up her throat. “A sampling.” He let her go briefly, pulling his arms out of the sleeves.

 

“We can explore…” Her nose pressed against his cheek; her words moaned into the corner of his mouth.

 

He nodded, blindly unbuttoning the rest of her dress and sliding his hands up her back. “See what’s good.”

 

She was almost shaking with desire, clutching his shoulders like her life depended on it. “Be honest with me.”

 

“Always.” Then his lips were on hers, hot and demanding, rough fingers boldly mapping her body, tugging fabric, pulling impatiently, until her dress was halfway down her back, stuck at her elbows and trapping her arms at her sides.  “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he muttered, kissing up her jaw and sucking harshly on her earlobe. “I used to dream about you like this but I had no idea…”

 

Wrenching herself free of her dress, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing as much of her body against him as she could. “Tell me,” she panted between hard, frenzied kisses, “tell me what you dreamed.” She didn’t know where this feeling of desperation had come from but she never wanted it to end. His hands were all over her, gripping her hips, cupping her breasts through her bra, rubbing the tops of her thighs like he wanted to move higher but wasn’t sure if he could.

 

He pushed her onto her back, propping her foot up on the back of the sofa and settling between her legs. “You, like this,” he said against her lips, grinding his hips into her and swallowing her moan, flicking his tongue boldly into her mouth. “Fuck, Betty, put your legs around me.” His hand settled on her thigh, fingers sliding under the black cotton of her panties and gripping her ass. “You, in my bed, with me in the shower. God, you feel good.” He sank his teeth lightly into her throat, gripping her hair and pulling her head back. “One time in class, over the desk at the paper.”

 

Liquid heat shot through her, her legs spreading instinctively. “A bit harder,” she begged. “Pull my hair again.” Her hands stroked feverishly over his back, her nails digging in when he obeyed, sucking hard on her collarbone. “Yes, like that.”

 

His jeans were still on, and her bra and panties, and she was already dripping wet and hardly breathing - she couldn’t even fathom what it would be like naked, with him actually inside her. She could feel him, almost hard, through his jeans and it was intoxicating.

 

“I want to see more of you, ok?” She nodded frantically and he rolled over, pulling her with him. “Take off your bra.”

 

It was simple black cotton, nothing exciting, but he was staring at her chest like she was dressed in leather and lace. No one had ever seen her topless before, and the excitement that coursed through her at the thought of stripping for him shocked her. She sat up on her knees, hovering over his thighs, and toyed with the straps. “Are you sure?” she teased, palming her breasts and pushing them together, pinching her nipples through the fabric.

“God, yes,” he moaned, splaying his hands around the tops of her thighs. “Please.”

 

“Well, since you said please.” Swaying her hips in what she hoped was a seductive way, she slowly unhooked her bra and let the straps fall down her arms, watching him with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. She felt powerful and sexy, arching her back and leaning down, brushing her breasts against his chest, and sucking in a sharp gasp at the sensation. “Like that?”

 

“Exactly like that,” he breathed, smoothing his hands slowly up her waist, trailing his fingers over her soft skin and leaning up to kiss her fiercely, curling his tongue around hers and moaning quietly into her mouth. “Christ, Betts, how are you so fucking hot?”

 

His thumbs brushed over her nipples and she cried out softly in surprise. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “That does _not_ feel that good when I do it.”

 

“Thank you for that visual,” he groaned, squeezing her breasts and rolling her nipples between his fingers. “Is this right?”

 

“Mhm,” she whimpered, sitting up and closing her eyes, rocking her hips unconsciously. “Oh!” Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. “You’re - are you, um, really hard?”

 

“Like a fucking rock.”

 

She pressed down experimentally, leaning her hands on the sofa above his head. “Oh, wow,” she whispered. “Can you - fuck yes.” He braced his feet and met her tentative rolls with harder thrusts of his own, leaning up to mouth at her breasts. “Oh, fuck yes.”

 

His hands dropped to her hips, dragging her roughly over him, his tongue curling around her nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth. “Jug, I need more,” she pleaded, tugging on his hair.

 

He made a noise she couldn’t quite decipher and lifted her up, undoing his jeans and shoving them out of the way. “C’mere”. They rolled together, and he hooked his arm under her knee, settling against her.

 

With only the thin cotton of her panties and his boxer-briefs between them, she could feel exactly how hard he was, the head of his cock brushing against her clit with every move they made. She shamelessly writhed beneath him, moaning and rubbing her breasts, pulling and twisting her nipples while he watched, panting, above her.

 

“Shit that’s hot, Betty. Fucking hell.” He moved faster, leaning his fist on the sofa by her shoulder, his thumb resting on her throat. “Are you wet for me?”

 

There was no way he couldn’t feel it, but she nodded, her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth open in silent gasps.

 

“Say it.”

 

Her core clenched and she squeezed her thighs around him, moaning in the back of her throat. “I’m so wet, fuck, you make me so wet. I want you to touch me.”

 

His hips bucked sharply, his thumb pressing briefly into her pulse. Then, he stopped and leaned down, ground against her once, and whispered a single word in her ear.

 

“Beg.”

 

Her eyes flew open in surprise, catching his dark gaze, his eyes black and intense staring into hers, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’d do anything he asked. It was no longer a matter of how assertive he’d get - she _wanted_ him to take control of her, wanted to see how far she could fall.  “Touch me, please, Juggie. I want, fuck, I need to come. Please touch me, put your hands on me.”

 

He pressed one searing kiss to her lips and backed away, pulling her off the couch. “Up,” he said, leaning back against the cushions.  She obeyed, standing on the plush carpet with shaking legs. “Take off your panties. Slowly.”

 

Hooking her thumbs into the waistband, she dragged the soaked cotton down her legs without bending her knees, not breaking eye contact with him. “What else?” she whispered, standing before him in just her stockings, with a challenging, yet submissive look on her face.

 

“Just stay there a minute, let me look at you.” He stood up, too, stroking his hand down her side and resting it on her hip. “You are so, so beautiful, Betty,” he said softly, smiling and leaning in to gently kiss her cheek. “Is this okay? Not too much?” he whispered.

 

“Perfect.” She smiled back and lightly stroked her fingers against his jaw. “We’re exploring, right? I trust you.”

 

“Put me in my place if I go too far.”

 

Her heart swelled at the sincere look on his face and she bit her tongue before she could blurt out something stupid like the L word, settling instead on saying again, “I trust you.”

 

“Thank you.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and kissed her deeply, pressing himself against her. “Feel what you do to me,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re a fucking goddess, Betty. I’ve never been this hard.”

 

“You should feel what you do to me,” she said, taking his hand and guiding it between her legs. “Please, Jug,” she added, giving him a pleading look.

 

He pulled his hand away, shaking his head grinning wickedly at her. “Not yet, Miss Cooper. Sit on the ledge.” Taking her hand, he helped her step across the sofa cushions to the edge of the pit and waited for her to sit down before kneeling on the couch by her feet.

 

She looked down at him, breathless, heart pounding, watching as he studied her, then stroked his hands up the inside of her legs, up her waist, over her breasts, stopping to caress each one and thoroughly lick and suck each nipple until she was panting, clutching his hair with both hands, moaning his name. “Please, Jughead.”

 

“Spread your legs for me.”

 

She obeyed without hesitation, shifting to the edge of her perch and leaning back on her hands with her chest up, absolutely loving the feeling of being so completely exposed to him.

 

“Holy fuck,” he muttered to himself, leaning back to look at her. “What I wouldn’t give for a camera right now. You...wow.”

 

“This isn’t a museum, Jug,” she whispered, a slight whine in her voice. “You can touch the artwork.”

 

“Show me how.”

 

“What?” she asked, snapping her head up to look at him.

 

“Show me how you like to be touched,” he repeated flatly, raising an eyebrow. “Now, please.”

 

It was an activity she was familiar with, albeit with lacklustre results, so she slowly brought her right hand to her center, and dragged her middle finger through the honeyed puddle she found there. “Oh, my God,” she moaned, biting her lip so sharply that she tasted blood. “Look what you did to me.”

 

“Fuck, baby, I’m looking,” he answered, awed. “Keep going.”

 

She watched him while she worked herself slowly, pressing two fingers deep into her core and stroking her clit lightly with her thumb until her body started to tense and a light sweat broke out over her skin. “I’m close, Jug. Do you want me to come?”

 

“I want to feel it,” he whispered. “Show me what to do.”

 

“Give me your hand.”

 

He got to his knees and came forward, sliding his hand up the inside of her thigh and waiting for her to guide him.

 

“Two fingers, this way,” she breathed, showing him. She hissed when he entered her; his fingers were bigger than hers and the stretch burned.

 

“Okay?”

 

“Uh huh,” she moaned, her hips already starting to move against his hand. “Do you want to do it?”

 

“God yes,” he panted, coming even closer so she could feel his breath on her. “Can I put my mouth on you?”

 

At that, her core clenched tightly around his fingers and she cried out, gripping his hair and guiding him forward. “Yes, oh my God yes, please. Lick me, right there.” She pointed where she wanted him and almost sobbed when his tongue flicked against her. “A little softer, a little slower,” she said, holding him in place and moaning encouragement. “Fuck, Oh my God, Jug, just like that, don’t stop, just like that.”

 

It wasn’t her first orgasm, but it was the first one that started in her toes and spread through her whole body in crashing waves, making her tremble and cry out uncontrollably, her mind going blissfully blank as she rocked against his tongue, clenching and releasing in ripples around his fingers.

 

“Just your fingers now, softly,” she panted when she could speak again, pushing his face gently away. “Bring me down.”

 

He stared at her, his jaw hanging open in complete shock as he did what she said, curling his fingers carefully into her fluttering center. He hit her g-spot and she groaned, “remember that spot for next time,” laughing softly and pulling away.

 

“Betty,” he breathed. “Is it always like that?”

 

“Not for me,” she said, slithering down onto his lap. “Never like that.”

 

“That was incredible.”

 

“You’re telling me?” she giggled, sliding her hands up his chest and curling her fingers into his hair. “That was beyond incredible.” She leaned in to kiss him softly and pulled back, startled by the sweet-sour taste of his lips. “Is that what I taste like?” She dipped her tongue into his mouth and moaned, deepening the kiss and rising up on her knees, pressing her chest against his.

 

Whether it was her own taste or the thought of where his tongue had been, she didn’t know, but she was suddenly desperate for more. “I want to taste you,” she whispered, trailing one hand down his stomach and fingering the waistband of his shorts. “Can I?”

 

He ran his hands down her back and grabbed her ass, squeezing hard and yanking her against him. “Could you be more specific?” he said quietly, dragging the tip of his tongue up the side of her neck. “I like it when you’re very explicit about what you want.”

 

She shivered, feeling her arousal dripping down her thighs. What was it about this side of him? Taking a deep breath, she dipped her hand into his shorts and murmured, “Please, can I suck your cock?”

 

He pulsed in her hand and she felt more than heard the strangled groan he tried to suppress. “Fuck, you’ve got such a pretty dirty mouth,” he said, kissing her hungrily and settling onto the sofa, throwing a cushion on the floor between his feet and stretching out his legs. “Get on your knees.”

 

She dropped to the floor, kneeling on the cushion and watching him pull his shorts down, his cock springing free. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips as he took himself in hand and idly ran his fingers up and down the shaft. “Go ahead, Betts. If you don’t like it, you can stop, okay? Whatever you want.”

 

Nodding, she wrapped her hand around him and stroked, watching for his reaction. He let out a soft breath and dropped his head back, resting his hand on his stomach. “I dreamed about this, too,” he murmured. He was as hard as steel in her hand, silky and hot and tempting.

 

“Tell me what you like?”

 

“I have no idea, baby. Try it and we’ll see.”

 

“I like it when you call me that,” she whispered, flicking her tongue out to taste the drop of moisture gathering at his tip. He twitched and she grinned, sliding her lips over the head and following her instincts, listening to each groan and muttered curse he let out as she experimented; swirling her tongue around, taking him deep in her throat and hollowing her cheeks, bobbing her head up and down and stroking whatever she couldn’t fit in her mouth with her hand.

 

“Fuck Betty, that mouth…” he was breathing heavily, one hand behind his head gripping his own hair, the other resting on her shoulder, gently stroking her neck with his thumb. “Can you do that thing with your tongue and then...yeah, that’s it. Fuck baby, keep doing that, just like that, nice and slow  …”

 

His hand moved to her hair, winding it around his fist, and his hips started to thrust slightly, his breath coming in shallow pants. “Fuck, Betts, I’m gonna come. If you don’t want to...fuck...stop if you, holy fuck-” She caught his eye and winked at him, not stopping, and he groaned, tightening his grip on her hair, his back arching off the cushion. “Oh, fuck, Betty, don’t stop. Fuck, oh, my Go-”

 

She saw his abs flex before the first taste hit her throat, and she reached up and dragged her nails down his stomach, wrapping her hand around his base and stroking firmly, swallowing everything while he moaned her name obscenely, shuddering and gripping her hair tightly. “God, Betty,” he whispered finally, pushing her gently away and tucking himself back into his shorts. “Oh, my God.”

 

“Was that good?” she asked, sitting back on her heels and looking up at him.

 

“So good,” he chuckled, pressing his forearm against his eyes. “So fucking good. Get up here.” He held out his hand and pulled her onto his lap. “You’re amazing.”

 

“So are you.” She tilted her head and kissed him softly. “I really like you like that.”

 

He looked at her for a moment, one hand idly stroking her hip. “I’m glad you said something,” he confessed. “I don’t think I would have brought it up if you hadn’t.”

 

“The shy alpha?” she teased, tracing the lines of his abs with her fingernail. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

 

“It wouldn’t be fun if you didn’t like it, Betty. If you’d hesitated, even for a second, I would have stopped.”

 

“I know, but I did like it. And so did you, I think.”

 

“More than I can ever tell you. We don’t have to do that every time, though. I want to try all kinds of things with you.”

 

“Exploring is good,” she whispered, laying back on the sofa and blinking at him expectantly.

 

“Exploring is very good.” Shifting to his knees, he crawled over her and kissed her slowly, drawing her knee up to his side and sliding his hand along her leg. “And if you could wear these socks every day, that would be great.”

 

“Mhm,” she agreed, catching at his mouth and wrapping her arms around him. “Kiss me.”

 

Ten minutes later, she was thoroughly flustered and panting into his shoulder while he ran his hands feverishly over her body, detailing in the most explicit way, between hot, wet kisses, exactly what he liked about every single part of her. It was definitely a side of him she hadn’t anticipated, until she realized that he was a writer and of course he’d appreciate words.

 

Turned out she did, too.

 

“Holy shit. Jughead! What the hell, man?”

 

Neither of them had heard the front door open. Jughead froze and looked down at her, their eyes wide and horrified. “It’s okay. He can’t see you if you’re under me,” he whispered.

 

Popping his head up over the edge of the pit, he glared at Archie ferociously. “Veronica said she’d ring the doorbell before you came in.”

 

There was a clatter of heels in the hallway and Veronica came skidding around the corner. “Archie!” she scolded. “I told you to wait for me.”

 

“I had to pee! I thought you’d said they’d be in the big bedroom?”

 

“What?” Betty whispered, confused.

 

“Veronica’s orders,” he explained. “I was supposed to romance you.” He turned back to Archie and barked, “well go to the fucking bathroom, man. And stay there for five minutes. And you,” he added more civilly, turning to Veronica while Archie dashed away, “if you’d be so kind as to avert your eyes so we can make ourselves decent?”

 

She laughed delightedly and turned on her heel, heading back toward the hall. “Don’t get dressed on my account. Just make plenty of noise on the stairs so I know it’s safe to come out.”

 

“Thank you. Also, you look very nice,” he said, taking in her red-carpet dress. “Hope you had a good night.”

 

“Thanks, Jug. I’d return the compliment but we’ve already established you don’t want to hear it,” she teased, eyeing his bare chest.

 

“And the civilities are over, so please leave,” he muttered, sending her a dirty look and retreating into the sofa pit.

 

Betty was already pulling on her dress and gathering up his shirt and her discarded underwear. “Well that could have been worse,” she decided. “Is it safe?”

 

“Yeah," he said, double checking before climbing up to the floor, giving her his hand and pulling her up after him. They scurried out of the living room and up the stairs, Jughead shouting “Thank you!” before she pulled him into her bedroom and slammed the door behind them.

 

“What’s this about the big bedroom?” she asked, tossing her underwear in the laundry basket and dropping down on her bed. “Veronica told you to do something?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” he snorted. “Before she gave me flavoured condoms and told me to trim my nails, she told me that you’re a romantic and I should ‘pull out all the stops’ in the master bathroom. Something about a fireplace and a garden tub.”

 

Betty’s eyes widened and she burst into laughter, falling back on the bed and covering her face with both hands. “Oh, my lord. She’s like a sex-crazed fairy godmother. _Flavoured condoms_?”

 

“So you’d taste like strawberries if I had to, I believe she said, make up for a bad performance.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“She’s just looking out for you.”

 

“ _Wow ._ ”

 

“Imagine how I felt?”

  
“I’m so sorry.” Still giggling, she sat up and looked at him curiously. “Not that I’m complaining, but why didn’t you take her advice? About the bathroom?”

 

He shrugged and flopped down next to her. “It seemed kind of staged. I didn’t want to make it weird. It was good this morning, right? Just things happening on their own. I liked that.”

 

“I did, too,” she whispered.  “There was no pressure - we were just surviving and everything else was a nice surprise.”

 

“It was the most relaxed I’ve ever seen you, Betts, and it was amazing. I don’t ever want to make you feel like you have to conform to some set of rules, or meet someone’s impossible expectations.”

 

“Expectations can ruin a good thing, and I think this is a really good thing.” She dropped her gaze to her lap, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “That said, I’ve got a garden tub, too, and I’m kind of sticky …” She trailed off, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

 

“A bath would be the natural thing to do about that."

 

“And you probably need one, too,” she pointed out, standing up and heading into the bathroom.

 

“We should save water,” he called over the sound of the bath running.

 

“Absolutely." She whipped her dress over her head and leaned out the bathroom door, tossing it into the laundry basket. “You coming?”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles nonchalantly while rocking innocently back and forth and avoiding eye contact*
> 
> So that happened. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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